


Day 3

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: Gallavich Week 2014 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich Week 2014, M/M, but fancy gays aren't scared of him, mickey is scared of fancy gays oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey attends another loft party with Ian and he really doesn't expect so many guys to have the same bad boy fetish. It's a little unnerving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 3

**Author's Note:**

> a little late but the theme for Tuesday was jealousy. I'm going to hopefully post yesterday's after work today and get another one written by tonight lol. this working for a living thing sucks. why can't I just get paid to write fanfiction?

                “Mickey, right? Ian’s man?” the blond asked, surreptitiously swirling his martini as he regarded him. Mickey hated it when people referred to him as Ian’s ‘man,’ as if he were some nameless queer meant to smile and look pretty on Ian’s arm. He’d gone through hell and back for Ian and he wasn’t going to let some stranger cheapen their relationship. He nodded anyways and the man went on. “Did I hear someone say you used to be a drug dealer?”

 

                “Uh,” Mickey was a little taken aback. These people were interested in so many really weird things. A couple other people had joined the conversation and Mickey fidgeted a little with his beer bottle. “Yeah. Still do sometimes when I’m strapped for cash.”

 

                “ _Really_?” another one asked, so genuinely interested that it disgusted Mickey more than a little. “What did you sell?”

 

                “Weed, mostly. Occasionally coke when one of my dad’s guys had junk to sell and sometimes meth when my brother managed to make it without blowing shit up.” Mickey answered. The little crowd gathered around him chattered in awe and he caught Ian’s eye from across the room in the hopes that his boyfriend would come over and save him. No such mercy was delivered though, since Ian just grinned, eyes bright. He was pleased that Mickey was playing so well with his friends. Especially considering they were friends from the club. Fancy gays made Mickey the most nervous.

 

                But it turns out they weren’t the worst. Fancy gays with some weird ghetto chic fantasy that they wanted to act out with him were the worst.

 

                “Is it true you got shot?” some asked, abruptly taking Mickey attention from where he stared Ian down.

 

                “Yeah,” Mickey replied. “Twice.”

 

                They made sounds to express how impressed they were and Mickey nearly rolled his eyes at how fucking twisted these people were. They sat on the edge of their seats and oohed and ahhed at all these stories but they wouldn’t last a second in the South Side. They were the kind of people Terry Milkovich ate for breakfast. He bet that outside of a party environment if they were to see Mickey walking down the sidewalk towards them they would cross the street to avoid him. These people were fake and pretentious and literally the only common factor they shared with Mickey was that they happened to also be in the same tenth of the population he was.

 

                “Who shot you?” one of Ian’s friends asked.

 

                “Yeah, how did it happen?” another one prompted.

 

                “The first time it was the guy Ian was fucking before we hooked up. The old creep was pissed off that Ian wasn’t into him anymore so he shot me,” Mickey said. Most of his little audience turned to look at Ian, and Mickey went on. “The second time I was helping Ian rob some old queen’s place and his wife chased me out of the house with a shotgun and filled my ass with shrapnel – and not in the good way.”

 

                “You got shot in the ass?!” one particularly interested guy asked while the other four or so guys laughed at Mickey’s joke. Mickey vaguely remembered him being named Brad. Or Blake. Ben? Something with a B. He didn’t care that much. “Can we see the scar?”

 

                “That’s… a bit personal,” Mickey said, eyebrows rising outside of his will. Immediately the rest of the group started talking, begging and trying to wheedle as if Mickey actually knew any of them or liked any of them enough to respond to ‘pretty please? With a cherry on top?’ or some such gay shit.

 

                “What about the other one?” Braden (or whatever) asked, leering eagerly at Mickey. “Can we see your other scar?”

 

                “It’s also in the underwear region so no,” Mickey replied. He tried to be sharp and terse with them but they just lapped it right up, spurred on by his moodiness.

 

                “Have you ever been to jail?” Brittany (probably not, but it was as good a B name as any) asked suddenly. Mickey’s fanclub went silent as the watched their hero and awaited his answer.

 

                “No,” Mickey snapped. “Been to juvie twice, though. Stabbed a guy with a fork while I was in the joint the first time. Fucker tried to steal my Jell-o.”

 

                And the crowd went wild. The little audience chattered away excitedly about the new development and Mickey just stood there at a loss of what to do. Fortunately, Ian swooped in to rescue Mickey like a hot ginger guardian angel right when shit-for-brains Billy swooned overdramatically and purred; ‘do me you filthy criminal’ as he practically plastered himself Mickey’s side.

 

                “We’d better get going,” Ian said, sugary sweet as he watched Mickey try to extricate himself from B-whatever’s tentacles. He only let up when Mickey elbowed him hard in the ribs and Ian felt bad for not feeling bad about it. “Goodnight, guys. See you at the club.”

 

                “Really?” one of Mickey’s other fanboys asked. “But it’s so early, Ian! I bet Hugh would let you crash here if you need somewhere to stay.”

 

                “Thanks, but Mick’s gotta work tomorrow. Needs his rest to keep those whores in line, you know how it is,” Ian said. Mickey was three seconds away from dropping to his knees and kissing Ian’s boots in appreciation for saving him from those fucked-up queers. They bid quick farewells and Mickey sputtered and struggled but endured it as Bernadette scribbled his number on Mickey’s palm sneakily.

 

                Ian’s own palm smudged the number when he pushed Mickey’s hands above his head again against the wall while fucking him in the stairwell of Hugh’s apartment building. He’d be having words with Blaine before too long, but he still made sure to cover Mickey in hickeys the next time he knew the horny fucker would be at another loft party. He gawked a little upon first seeing the plum-coloured marks but Mickey wore them with pride which was of course the best part.


End file.
